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Month: December 2012

“The charm of fishing is that it is the pursuit of what is elusive but attainable, a perpetual series of occasions for hope.” —John Buchan

My dad fished professionally for many years, and earned sponsors and endorsements from boat and bait/tackle companies. He was featured in magazine articles, and won many notable tournaments throughout his career. As a matter of fact, when I tell people around here who my dad is, most (if into fishing) “ooh” and “ah” over my dad’s knowledge of the lakes and his seemingly instinctual ability to catch fish.

Before the adoption of our son, we took him to the lake often to visit his “Papa” and play around on the water. Once our adoption was finalized, and my son had the ability to hold a fishing pole, my dad headed out on the water with him and started teaching him all that he knew. He is now 6-years-old, and has been fishing pretty regularly since the age of 2 years. He can name virtually every type of freshwater fish. He can top-water fish, use a variety of baits and tackle, and even use a bait-caster. I think he would fish just about every day if we let him.

During visits with my son’s biological mother while we were fostering him, she often asked me if someone would take him fishing. She wanted her son to have the opportunity to learn how to fish. I’m not sure if this is something she enjoyed as a child, but it seemed pretty important to her for him to be a boy who fished.

She was quite excited to hear that my dad past-time is fishing, and that her son would learn to fish from one of the best around this area. When I get images like the one above from my dad while on the lake with my son, I can’t help but think of his birth mother, and how often she talked about taking him fishing.

My dad may have won tournaments, earned money, and made a name for himself through fishing, but the joy on my son’s face and the time spent with his favorite fishing buddy is by far the greatest award he has ever received.

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We took a short road trip on Wednesday to the small town of Jasper, Arkansas (population 458) to visit my husband’s family. Jasper is tucked in a valley between the mountains of Northwest Arkansas. I grew up in a small city in the Ozarks (and I still live here), but, places like Jasper and other small towns were just a “stone’s throw away” from where I lived. Having grown up in the Missouri Ozarks and hearing all the jokes about “hillbillies”, I used to dream about living in a big city with tall buildings, art galleries, and stores with huge windows filled with lots of man-made desires of the retail kind.

When I sneak off to places like Jasper and take in the scenery, I’m very appreciative of the hidden nuggets of wonder and scenes from a time-gone-by. The hills become my skyscrapers, old rock and wood architecture becomes my art gallery, and the landscape becomes my window to the beauty of creation. I guess it’s true….”Tis a pleasure to live in the Ozarks!”

If you enjoy camping, canoeing, hiking, and finding unique little towns, you should travel to Arkansas and Missouri. Just make sure to bring your motion sickness medication for the curvy and hilly roads!

Here are just a few pics of our road trip. The pictures were mostly taken from my moving vehicle with an iphone, so please excuse the lighting and any flaws! Enjoy!

One more shot of the ghost of an old amusement parkRemnants of an amusement park called “DogPatch USA”. I remember going as a child.more images from the abandoned amusement park“DogPatch USA”Yes, people still live in log cabins 🙂Lots of people float the Buffalo during the summer season!another image of the squareThey call this “Little Switzerland”Ozark Cafe – over 100 years old & definitely worth the drive to eat there! We were sad it was closed yesterday. You can find out more about it on their website: http://www.ozarkcafe.comhistoric landmarkI wish this little store was open! No telling what kind of gems I could have found in there!

cute little food truck!

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One of my favorite Christmas songs is “The Little Drummer Boy”. There is something quite simplistic, yet deeply thoughtful (in my opinion) about this tune. The lyrics tell the story of a boy whose only gift for the newborn King is the rhythmic tapping of his drum.

I remember watching the animated movie when I was younger. The description of the movie is, “An orphan drummer boy who hated humanity finds his life changed forever when he meets three wise men on route to Bethlehem.” (www.imdb.com) I would argue that his life changed more when he met the newborn King. Much like those of us who claim Christ as our Savior, the people along the way certainly influenced our journey, but ultimately, meeting the Lord and reveling in His glory is what changed our lives.

The thought that our Savior was born in a lowly manger surrounded by very few people is quite humbling. His worth values more than any riches. He could have been born in the most glorious of places, and could have commanded the Earth to move. And yet, the song of “The Little Drummer Boy” reminds me of the pureness of children and how their gifts, though small and often hand-made, carry far greater value than the store-bought gifts we often receive. The words also speak of meeting the Lord where we are at; poor, with not much to offer.

I believe He doesn’t expect us to put out our finest wares for Him. I believe He wants our gifts to be used and given in humility, kindness, and with sincere generosity. I believe we are to use what we have been given to the best of our ability, and with the heart of a child. These gifts of our time, service to others, loving acceptance, and consolation of each other are of value that will never fade.

What “drum” will you play to honor Him? What will the rhythm of your life sound like? The sounds may fade, and the act may be just one moment in time, but, the impact on others can be eternal.

Yes, Lord, I’ll play my drum for You.

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Walking by the magazine aisle in the grocery story, I noticed a headline that claimed “Raising a Royal Baby”. The article was apparently about the expectant royal couple William and Kate. I thought how interesting, exciting, yet difficult it would be to raise a “royal” child.

All the eyes of the world would be on you. If your children struggled with behavioral problems or other issues, what kind of attention would that draw? The initial thought of being someone of royalty sounds quite intriguing, but, to be under the constant scrutiny would be tough. Parenting is a hard enough job without having the eyes of the world watching your every move.

Tonight would not have been a good “parenting through the lens of the camera” moment for me. Busy streets, long lines, and two very hyper, and slightly defiant, children pushing every boundary possible in the store, was enough to diminish the “merry-ness” of the last-minute Christmas shopping trip. Thoughts of “I’m gonna wring their little necks!” ran through my mind all while I was smiling through my pseudo-calm words of “If you continue this behavior, we will have to leave the store.”

Reflecting back on the magazine cover I saw, it hit me that we are all raising royal children. As a believer in Christ the King, I know my children are His. This means that I am raising royal children! What a wonderful, and challenging thought!

The next time I get a little….um….frustrated with my little ones while out and about, I need to remind myself that I am raising children of the King. Now that should humble and refine me a bit! That should remind me of the importance of striving to always grow as a parent, to learn more about what works and doesn’t work, and to remember that I too am a child of the King.

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The post I wrote earlier titled Yearning for Change was out of anger and anguish over what happened this past weekend in Connecticut. It was also out of frustration as a professional in the field of social work who knows that those most often affected by cuts in budget are children and families. After writing it, I was gently reminded that true change really does start at home. Fathers and Mothers need to love their children. Grandparents should, if possible, wrap their love around their families and provide support. Parents should be building their children up, instead of tearing them down. Parents just need to be parents.

I decided to re-post a piece I wrote for my children back in June. Children are always on my mind – not just my children, but children of the world. No child should ever go to bed wondering if he or she matters to this world. Earlier in the week, I prayed to the Lord and cried out, “What are we doing to Your children, Father?!?” I realized, though, that He who holds the stars, also holds our children.

This piece I wrote about in the post linked below is not just for my children, but for yours as well. After this week, my desire penned months ago seems to have even more relevance. If you wish, click on the link and read it. Blessings to you and yours!

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I have to admit that I was anxious about taking my son to school today. I just wanted to grab him and run back out of the building, or stay with him all day. I prolonged our usual walk to the cafeteria where he goes before school starts. I hugged him once, went back for a second and third hug, and then turned around and hugged him for the fourth time while whispering in his ear that I love him.

For the first time today, I gave second glances to people I have not seen before in the school. I noticed how many doors there were, and wondered if they were locked. I imagined where my little boy would hide if he needed to. I wanted to ask about school security, evacuation plans, etc, but, I could tell the principal and teachers were all probably preoccupied with the same emotional anxiety that I was feeling.

I’m not the only one who felt this way today. Most of the mom’s I spoke to were ready for the hour to come when school was let out. I was anxious to pick him up, embrace him, and get him in my car. I kept up a quick pace from my car to the door, and just couldn’t wait to lay my eyes on him. After seeing him sitting there in line waiting for me to get him, my pace quickened, I called his name, and wrapped my arms around his shoulders while walking him out. He sort of gave me that “uh..mom…?” look, but I didn’t care. I wanted him out of the building, and back in the warm secure place that we call home.

I’m struggling a bit to not write about the shooting tragedy, or to keep it out of my mind. This shooting is no less tragic or no more tragic than any other violent act in our country, but this one…this one cuts right into the heart of us all. Perhaps, it is the age of the sweet babies killed, the way it happened, the lack of security in our school systems, or the lack of professional, affordable mental health services. Or, perhaps, and I say this with caution, it is the plethora of available weaponry on our streets. Maybe, it is all of these things combined.

As a professional in the field of social work, I have worked with mentally ill adults and children. I have worked with at-risk youth, adolescent sexual perpetrators, and drug addicts. I have tracked down homeless people, or those with-whom society doesn’t care about. I have been cursed at and threatened by angry clients. I even had a somewhat mentally unstable man, high on pain killers, pull a handgun from behind his back and show it to me while I was doing a routine well-being check on him.

When I was a new case worker, I was told that I should step aside when I knocked on the door of a potentially angry client so that if the person shot at me, he or she would miss. I was also told to always know where my exits are, and to never turn my back on someone. Just last week I read an article about a young social worker who was chased down after a home visit, and brutally stabbed to death by a mentally unstable client.

I keep hearing all this talk about “changing the way things are done”. If politicians really want to understand persons with mental health problems, at-risk youth, or the desperate struggles of parents and the “system” trying to heal and help these folks, then I think they should join us in the field sometime. I think they should have to listen to the screaming and cussing phone messages of angry clients left on voice machines. I think they should have to assist in finding a home for a youth who has severe mental health issues with violent tendencies. I think they should have to accompany parents who struggle to get their children the help they need because of lack of funding.

I say all of this to not lay blame for what occurred, or to turn this into a political issue. I don’t want to believe that this is only a gun issue either. It is an issue of a young man who may or may not have gotten the help he needed. It is an issue of a mother who most likely desperately struggled raising a troubled son. It is an issue of young persons slipping through the cracks, and desperately needed funding being slashed. It is an issue of safety in our schools. This is also an issue of the heart, and the lack of empathy or understanding for those on the outside of what is deemed as socially acceptable.

I think those in charge of writing policies, adding or cutting funding, and lobbying so passionately for what they believe in, should join social workers, teachers, counselors, and parents as they work tirelessly to fix the most complicated of problems. I’m certainly not an expert on mental health, gun laws, and politics. I’m just a mom who fears that my children are growing up in a less safe and more complicated world that I grew up in. I’m a mom who wants people that need help to get help. I’m a mom who yearns for real change, the kind that creates a world that is more loving, and accepting of others, to happen. The ones who lost their lives last week deserve for us all to ponder carefully on these issues with sensitive hearts and open minds.

Our children, and our children’s children, deserve it as well.

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Following a day that has shaken most of us, my husband and I decided to get the kids out of the house and visit the local nature center. We are trying to keep the news channels off our television, and to shield the little ears in our home from hearing about the tragedy that took place in Connecticut. To be honest, we both can barely keep it together when thinking about the precious six and seven-year-old boys and girls whose lives were taken. All of the children who died were born in 2005 and 2006.

Our son was born in 2006. He thoroughly enjoys Kindergarten, and is learning so much. He doesn’t know a stranger and says “hi” to every student and teacher he passes by. Our walk in to the school building every day has become a ritual of sorts. I thought about stopping this and letting him off at the door to save time, but after yesterday, I will continue to walk him into the classroom, say hello to his teachers and friends, hug him, tell him that I love him and to have a “blue” day (color card incentive for good choices), and walk back out greeting people along the way.

My husband and I cannot really talk about the school shooting without getting tearful. The thought of losing a child; especially in such a violent way, is so unbearable. The lesson that I was reminded of yesterday is not to take any moment for granted and to love our children for the incredible gifts that they are.

As the day turned into evening, we baked up a batch of gingerbread cookies for the kids to decorate. The smell of sugary comfort filled our home while our children gleefully awaited for the cookies to be done. During this time, I was reminded again of the stark difference between what my day involved and what this day must have been like for the grieving parents, siblings, friends, and grandparents who all lost loved ones, and the sense of security they once had.

I know as the days go on, our family will go about our business of staying busy, gearing up for Christmas, and creating new memories. I also know that we will get to a place where we can talk about the school shooting without getting tearful. We will be able to discuss rationally (at least in our home) the pro’s and con’s of gun laws in our country. I know we will return to a sense of normal. For today though, I’m choosing to cherish the laughter I hear from the living room, the off-key singing of a boy in a bathtub, and the gift of this day with my children.

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About Me

Hello, friend! My name is Caroline. I'm a wife and mother of three children. In 1983, at the age of eleven, I became gravely ill and ended up needing an emergency hysterectomy. I am blessed by the adoption of my children and have great peace with my "lot in life".
I am deeply passionate about encouraging others struggling with infertility and about advocacy for foster care (two of our kids were adopted out of foster care). I no longer consider myself barren. I consider myself fruitful, joyful, whole and blessed.